


john that's gay

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (very mild descriptions of said injuries), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Minor Injuries, alex wears "are you nasty" shorts, lafayette & hercules mentioned, they're gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6699289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>alex gets into another fight with jefferson // john has to clean him up</p>
            </blockquote>





	john that's gay

**Author's Note:**

> things 2 keep in mind:  
> -this is my first fic  
> -i didnt mean for it to be this long,  
> -i know 0 things about medicine or first aid
> 
> ok less go
> 
> edit: this is my first fic so critiques are welcome!!

He couldn’t believe that this had happened again.

To be fair, Jefferson had deserved it! He just _haaaad_ to keep running his mouth, and it was only a matter of time before they got into another fight -- yeah, this wasn’t the first time. If there was one thing that they had in common, it was that neither of them learned from the past. Alex had been quite roughed up before, but he couldn’t remember the previous fights ending as badly as this.

Alexander was a mess, to put it nicely. His knuckles bled, his shoulder ached, his head throbbed; a nasty cut on his eyebrow had swollen profusely, and Alex had to keep swallowing over a busted lip until the taste of blood became unbearable. Part of his shirt collar had torn, and he didn’t know where his jacket had gone. He walked at an awkward limp.

Still, despite all of this, the man stubbornly continued to make his way up the dimly lit street. Even in this state, he could navigate this street as if he’d lived there his entire life. John Laurens’ apartment complex had that effect on people.

Or, maybe, just him.

It was a miracle that Alexander was able to find the right door. Not only was it the middle of the night, but his vision felt blurred, and half of the street lights were turned off. His head was pounding. He would have used his phone as a flashlight, but he felt like his hand could barely function, and he was at least 70% certain that his phone had been left in his jacket pocket. Hating Jefferson and finding John were the only two things his mind could manage around the thundering headache.

Still, in somewhat of a daze, he managed to plant himself directly in front of John’s front door. He could see that the lights were on somewhere inside.

With his functioning hand, he summoned all of the strength that he could and began to tap on the door.

It seemed like ages that he had to stand there, the cold catching up to him, pain reverberating through his body with each light tap. He simultaneously anticipated and dreaded the moment that the door would open. However, all of his frustrations and doubts came seeping out of him the moment he saw John Laurens.

The light was on somewhere inside so it was difficult to see his face, but his hair had been pulled into a lazy ponytail (if you could call it that). Understandably, he was in his lounging clothes. Alex could recognize Herc’s oversized Batman t-shirt. He couldn’t be blamed -- it seemed like everybody around owned an article of Hercules’ clothing.

There was an unbearably long pause while Alex swallowed and struggled to see John properly, while the other man stood in the doorway, his breath completely caught in his throat.

Alexander couldn’t even get an embarrassed greeting in before John began to usher him urgently through the door. He heard bewildered stammering in his ear. Even in spite of it all, including his throbbing head, Alex couldn’t resist a weak smile in response.

“Alexander, _how--_?”

“Hey, John, how’s your evening been?”

“How did you manage to…?”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful your home is?” Alex eyed John’s cozy living room, gazing longingly at the couch and armchair that he loved so dearly. The sudden shift from darkness to a well-lit living room had caused his head pain to skyrocket and he longed to curl up and close his eyes.

“Alexander, _please--_ ”

“Hey, I think I may have left my phone at--”

“ _Alexander!_ ”

John laid his hand on Alex’s shoulder to turn him around. In an instant, Alex hissed in pain, surprising both of them; apparently even the slightest bit of pressure was enough to rattle Alex down to the bone. John’s hand disappeared immediately. Momentarily, Alex considered that maybe he was more shaken by the fight than he’d thought. Suddenly he wasn’t sure if he wanted to meet John’s eye. He could feel John’s eyes burning into his back.

There was a moment of deafening silence.

Far more gently than the first time, Alexander felt John’s hand reappear, on his elbow this time. John was guiding him towards the big armchair. He heard John murmur something about the house being a mess, but Alex could not have possibly cared any less. It was with great relief, and also with a visible wince that Alexander was able to lower himself into the soft chair.

He was dimly aware of John talking again. Alex’s eyes closed involuntarily for a moment as he revelled in the relief of finally making it to John’s house. The lights were too bright. His headache was more apparent to him now than ever.

He could hear the distant rattling of John scrambling for something, and despite the pain, the warmth from the lamp felt nice against his eyelids. He involuntarily shifted his arm against the soft fabric of the armchair. Alex had memorized the location of a bloodstain he’d left the first time he came to John’s for a patching-up, but couldn’t bring himself to lift an arm to touch it.

“...isn’t a pub nearby, how could you have _possibly_ walked…”

Even better than John’s house was, of course, John. When Alexander opened his eyes, John was setting up a first-aid kit along with a slew of miscellaneous medical supplies on the coffee table. _That’s what you get when you go to a medical student for help, Alex_.

John was turning around again to grab one more thing from the kitchen, but seemed to have a realization and turned back to Alex.

“....are you listening? Alexander? Alexander!”

Alex blinked. Shit, he hadn’t even processed what John had said.

John now looked as if he was on the verge of desperation, meeting Alex’s gaze with a look of genuine worry and fear. He’d crouched by the armchair to be closer. He’d thought that it was only a moment, but Alex wondered how long his eyes had really been shut, and for how long John had been rambling. Unfortunately, the the pain was now catching up to him again. His headache had become a steady, dull pounding. He only nodded in response.

John noticed this and immediately started to rummage about in his supplies, as Alex’s weak nod seemed to remind him of the urgency of the situation. Still, Alex noticed John’s eyebrows furrowing, something that he did when he was in deep thought. His hands appeared to be on autopilot.

Almost hesitantly, he found his words. “You ran your mouth again, didn’t you, Alexander?” John’s voice was quiet, thoughtful, far from accusatory. Alex opened his mouth to shoot back an indignant reply, but pain seared through his cut once more and his words fell short. Instantly John was wadding up a cloth that he’d laid out on the coffee table (Alex took note of his good planning) and gently wet it using a glass of water he’d brought over.

“No, never mind, you’ll strain your cut if you move too much,” Laurens murmured decisively, mostly to himself. Alexander recognized the guilt flicker across John’s face for asking him a question and, for once, decided not to speak. Besides, did he really even have to say it? Based on the resignation in John’s expression, Alex figured that he had already guessed what’d happened. He kept quiet.

John’s hand appeared along the side of Alexander’s face to gingerly tilt his chin sideways. He pressed the cold cloth to Alex’s bleeding forehead, earning another pained hiss. John soothed him with another touch to the forearm. Alex leaned his head into John’s hand, who stroked his arm in response. _(It stings.) (I know.)_

Alex let his eyes flutter open again. He openly gazed at John, studying his face through the stinging of the cold cloth on his eyebrow. There was no reason for him to try to be discreet about it, especially when they were in such close proximity to one another; he drank up every opportunity he had to just look at John, even with a raging headache, and John knew it. His freckled cheeks slightly flushed (against his will), and Alex’s little bout of amusement only grew.

John was trying hard to pretend to not notice Alex but couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze eventually. Alexander tried to smile but John did not return it, clearly not in the mood to joke.

Again, Alex felt a prick of guilt deep in his chest and his smile faded instantly. He understood why John was upset. He hated that John knew exactly what to do when Alex showed up on his doorstep after a fight. He hated that this situation already had a protocol. He always promised never to let it happen again, but he and John both knew that the promise was bound to break as it had many times in the past. He hated that John knew, too.

It was what he despised the most, letting John down. John wasn’t even attempting to lecture him this time, but to be honest, Alex thought he would have preferred a scolding to the painful silence.

In short, he was bleeding in like, thirty different places, and the only thing that really stung was the look on John’s face.

Alex opened his mouth to speak, but John beat him to it, effectively cutting him off. He spoke quietly -- it sounded as if he were pleading. “Alexander, you might have to go to the _hospital_.”

Alexander choked on whatever words he had been about to say. He looked dumbfounded for a moment, his wits came back to him not a second too soon. “Why would I need to go to the hospital when the best nurse in New York City is already with me?”

John lifted the cloth from Alex’s eyebrow and turned to the table in order to rummage for something else. “This is serious, you know.” However, Alexander caught a glimpse of John’s begrudgingly bashful look.

“Yeah.” Alexander absent-mindedly agreed, pleased by this tiny victory. He wanted to rest his head again, but wanted to do so into John’s hand, not the armchair. He fidgeted rather uncomfortably as he waited for John to finish fixing his gauze, or whatever it was. Alexander never bothered to learn medical terminology.

John’s hand returned to Alexander’s cheek to keep his head steady as he worked on patching up the cut. He smeared some sort of antibacterial junk on it (which stung like hell) before using a bit of medical tape to secure a gauze. For a while, John worked in silence, inspecting the most obvious cuts and bruises first. He was careful not to move his hand from Alex’s cheek all too much, which made for some pretty slow working, since he only had one hand left. Eventually Alexander had closed his eyes again. At one point, he heard John mutter, “Jesus, Alex, they really did a number on you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alex wasn’t sure how much time had passed before John placed a gentle hand on his chest, waking him up from a light slumber he hadn’t known he was taking. The lights had dimmed -- John must have turned the lamp down to the lowest setting at some point. Speaking of John, he was rather close, whispering so that he didn’t aggravate Alexander’s headache. “Come on, we need to change you out of those clothes.”

Alexander shifted slightly in the armchair and started to yawn, but the muscles in his back screeched for him to _stop, stop, stop_! He grimaced and tensed, squinting up at John. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, Alex.” John replied, walking over to the side of the armchair. “Do you need my help?”

Alex grumbled at this and began to hoist himself up, a grimace glued to his face. “You insult me, Laurens.” He tried to lean on his right arm, but it nearly collapsed under the weight, so he had to use the other.

He noticed that his right hand had been bandaged up at some point. Not only that, but there were, like, seventeen band-aids dotted all over his skin. Over half of them depicted colorful characters from Looney Tunes.

“I ran out of the regular kind,” said John, watching Alexander’s little struggle, smiling weakly. Even in the dim lighting, Alexander could see that he looked exhausted. “Can you walk on your own?”

“I walked here from Lexington Avenue, I’m pretty sure I can make it across the hall.” Alex teased, already shuffling pitifully away from the armchair. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he suddenly found that walking again was far more difficult than he’d expected. He had to pause and rest with his hand on the wall as soon as he reached the hallway. John wasn’t too far behind him, having picked up the first-aid kit and glass of water.

He helped Alex along until he reached the bathroom, reaching around the door frame to turn on the light. Alexander flinched, so John quickly turned it off again. “Sorry! I’ll meet you in here in a second, I need to grab something for you to change into.”

Alex acknowledged him with a curt nod, and stiffly managed to lower himself onto the edge of the tub. The hallway light flickered on so that Alex could still somewhat see what he was doing. _John, you think of everything, you beautiful bastard._

Getting settled made it very clear that it wasn’t just his shoulder -- God, his back was _really sore_. How could he have missed that? It hadn’t bothered him very much before, but now just thinking about having a body at all seemed like the most taxing thing in existence. He could hear John shuffling around in his drawers in the next room -- he’d have to ask later about painkillers.

After a minute or so of sleepily examining John’s turtle themed bathroom (complete with a turtle-shaped soap dispenser and a green turtle rug), John returned with a bundle of clothes pressed to his chest, a lit candle in another. He scooted aside a cluster of toothbrushes (he kept one for each of his friends for whenever they came over) and set the candle down on the new space on the counter. “How are you feeling now?”

In addition to the candle, Alexander appreciated how John kept the volume of his voice to a minimum. Thinking of his aching back, he was about to say _terrible_ , but given that a very sweet and very concerned John was hanging over him in his dorky pajamas, he quickly rethought his response. He decided against shrugging for obvious reasons, but managed a sly “‘I’ve been worse.”

John murmured something about Alex’s pride, but there was something less tense about him now. “Other than some nasty bruises, you’re gonna be okay, I think. You didn’t break anything, thank God.” he murmured the last part, turning to the counter to fiddle with the new gauze. The relief was clear on his candle-lit face. Alex felt himself relaxing a bit as well.

Alex whined a bit as John peeled off the old gauze from his eyebrow and prepared the new one. He could see that the used one had been soiled with blood. He tried to keep his face still as John fixed on the new gauze, firmly securing it with medical tape.

Next was clothes. John pulled Alex’s tennis shoes from his feet and replaced his socks. The new pair was striped with green and yellow.

“Okay, pants are coming off. Hold on to the edge of the tub, the last thing you need right now is to fall off.”

As John went to work pulling Alex’s pants from his legs, it was difficult for him to sit still. Typically, this would be a perfect opportunity for him to flex his wit with inappropriate innuendos, but Alex kind of liked it when John was in nurse mode, so he didn’t bother to ruin it. He didn’t even joke when John trailed his fingers along a nasty bruise close to Alexander’s hipbone, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

Time for underwear. John purposefully tried to avoid Alex’s eye as he held up the fresh pair.

“John, you’ve got to be kidding.”

“This is my only clean pair!”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me--”

“Just _roll with it,_ Alex.”

Thus, with John’s help, Alex was soon wearing a pair of bright pink underpants with “ARE YOU NASTY” sprawled across the butt.

Finally, John was able to wrestle new sweatpants onto Alex, who was already starting to feel exhausted all over again. He hadn’t even done any of the work! He recognized the sweatpants as belonging to Lafayette, because there was a glittery purple Eiffel Tower taking up much of the left thigh.

John wadded up Alex’s tattered old clothes and kicked them into the corner, no doubt to deal with them later. He closed the toilet seat and sat on it so that he could survey Alex’s shirt more steadily. Alex gulped under the other man’s focused stare.

Finally, John sighed. “I think I’m gonna have to cut it off.”

“Hey, what? This is one of my favorite shirts!” Alex protested, looking down at his shirt angrily.

John was giving him an incredulous (but amused) look. “Alex, it’s covered in blood and dirt and it’s already torn around the neck. It’s just a white t-shirt, you can get another one.” He reached back to the counter to grab the scissors.

“But this is the shirt I wore to the National Convention in 2008,” pouted Alex, begrudgingly allowing John to lean over him with the pair of scissors. “I’ve made so many memories in this shirt.”

John only smiled a bit and shook his head. “Including having your ass kicked by Jefferson? Hold still,” he gently instructed, eyes narrowing in concentration as he started to cut up the sleeve, much to Alex’s obvious displeasure. Because of the already-torn neck, he didn’t have to snip at the fabric for too long before it gave way. He then snipped off the other side.

The shirt sort of slid off of Alexander’s torso unceremoniously, and John wadded it up quickly to add to the gross old clothes pile. “I need to take a look at your back now.”

Somehow, Alex managed to rearrange himself without falling off of the edge of the tub, with his back to John. John had fallen worryingly quiet. Alex didn’t know what his back looked like, but it must be pretty bad if it looked anything like it felt.

John’s drawn-out silence only made Alexander more nervous. He heard a quiet, “Oh, Alex.”

“What?”

“It looks pretty bad. Nothing like any of the bruises you’ve had in the past.”

“Nothing I can’t handle, right?”

John’s hand appeared on Alex’s unbruised shoulder, so light and gentle that it almost tickled. “Yeah.”

Another long silence.

Finally, Alexander felt John shift around a bit. He kept his hand on Alex’s shoulder as he stood up, only lifting it when he had to turn to the medicine cabinet. Alex took this as his cue to turn back around and face the bathroom again, feeling vulnerable without a shirt. He didn’t like how John had tensed up again. _A stab of guilt._

He knew that it made John feel better to think out loud, so he tentatively prompted him with a question. “So, what’s next?”

Much to his relief, John seemed to want to start talking right away. He turned from the medicine cabinet with a labeled bottle of medicine in one hand, the glass of water in the other. “Your bruise is pretty nasty, but I know you don’t like prescription painkillers so we’re gonna see how you fare with extra strength Tylenol. Then we’re gonna go sit on the couch and hold ice to your back while you rest, which means that you’re staying here tonight. And,” John spoke decisively, handing over the glass of water, “no work tomorrow, Alexander.”

Deep in his heart, Alex had known that this was coming, but it still felt like being punched in the gut. More on impulse than anything, he immediately began to argue. “John, a bruise isn’t going to stop me from being able to finish a report. I only have to type, that’s all.” He reluctantly held out his hand to take the pill that John was giving him.

“Uh-huh, and I’m sure typing will be a real breeze. Let’s see if you’re still feeling bold tomorrow morning.” John drawled, looking pointedly at Alex’s heavily bandaged hand before setting the Tylenol back into the medicine cabinet. He glimpsed at the pile of Alex’s filthy clothes, then noticeably pretended not to see.

“So what? I can type with one hand. It’ll be slow, but at least something’s getting done!”

“I don’t suppose you stopped to pick up your laptop on your way over?”

Alex washed down the pill with water, using his non-bandaged hand. He was trying to shoot mutinous glares at John, but it was half-hearted, as he knew that he was right. He wasn’t even sure if he could drive home on his own (besides the fact that he didn’t have a car), and had a nasty feeling that the rest of his friends would be with John on this one. Besides, what was so bad about spending the next day or so with Laurens? “‘Kay, fine. Checkmate.”

John’s eyes twinkled. “That was easy. Can you lift your arms?” He was holding the clean t-shirt, ready to help Alex into it.

Alex obliged painfully, wishing that Tylenol kicked in more quickly. He lifted them until they were parallel with the ground before his arms screamed for him to stop.

John did his best with what he was given, trying to slip the shirt on as gently as he could. It was much bigger and baggier than the old one. “Jesus, John, how many of Herc’s shirts do you own?” Sure, he was cozy, but he was looking as mismatched as a tween actor on Disney Channel. The new shirt was blueish grey and depicted a fuzzy image of a UFO, with the bold caption “I WANT TO BELIEVE”.

“So ungrateful! Hush up about it, or else he’ll make me give them back,” teased John, squatting a bit and doing his best to support Alex underneath his arm without aggravating the bruise as they stood.

Alex took a forceful breath as the movement alone rattled his injuries, but he was determined to make it back to the couch.

John was sure to grab the candle with his other hand as they departed from the bathroom.

The walk back to the living room, somehow, felt a lot slower than the walk over. Again, Alex wondered how much time had passed since he’d arrived. What time did he even get here? What time was it now? Everything was so quiet, he was certain that time itself had slowed down for them.

He lowered himself onto the couch with John’s help, eyeing a new flurry of bloodstains on the armchair across the room. They were bright, fresh. Alexander fretted about them for a couple of moments and looked to John, but John didn’t seem concerned at all. He was even humming a bit as he headed over to the open kitchen unit to get the ice pack.

Alex’s attention had been caught. He watched the other man with childlike fascination, sitting lamely on the couch in the dim room, absentmindedly running his fingers over the bandages on his opposite hand.

He watched as the light of the refrigerator bathed John in sort of a gentle glow, creating a halo of light against his fuzzy ponytail. He watched as he worked methodically to wrap the ice pack in a soft towel, working as if he’d been doing this for years. It was a calming sight.

It was only when John started to head back to the couch with the ice pack in hand that he noticed Alexander’s stare. He sort of faltered mid-step for a moment, fixing Alex with a quizzical look as he lowered himself onto the couch beside him. “What?”

“You’re amazing, you know that?” said Alex, gently resting his head against the top of the couch cushions.

He didn’t take his eyes off of John as he laughed nervously, and sort of squirmed in his embarrassment. “Oh, please, Alexander!”

“It’s true! What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime, dummy?” John playfully countered, reaching across the couch for Alex’s hand. “Really, you must be tired. Get some rest.”

Very carefully, Alex managed to get settled so that his head was in John’s lap, face buried in his arms. John laid the ice pack over the bulk of Alex’s shoulder bruise. Alex could feel the cold relief almost instantly -- or maybe it was finally the Tylenol?

Alex closed his eyes. He felt warm, and John’s sweatpants were nice and soft. John had started to stroke his hair, which felt pretty nice, too.

He adjusted his position a bit so that his face was turned to one side.

John leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “G’night, Alexander.”

“...”

Alex heard the flick of the TV as John turned it on.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“That was kinda gay.”

“ _Goodnight_ , Alexander.”


End file.
